


Canvas

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Biting, Bloodplay, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/F, Marking, Scourge Sisters, mild breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:11:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they meet again, Terezi's hatred has festered for sweeps, and Vriska longs to taste the blood that she never got a chance to spill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canvas

“I haven’t forgotten, you know.”

The voice startles you. Your eyes, ghostly white, turn toward its source and widen.

“Terezi.”

Terezi Pyrope stands before you, taller than you remember her but every bit as cold. She is no longer channeling the Neophyte through her clothing; her shirt is black and adorned with her sign, teal like the blood you wish you’d been able to spill before she got to you first.

She steps forward and you notice what’s become so different about her.

“Your eyes,” you mutter.

She glares back, black pupils flashing on a backdrop of gold. Her irises are starting to fill in with the teal of her blood, and you take a moment to wonder exactly how long it’s been in her timeline since you last parted.

“Little Terezi Pyrope,” you snicker at her, smirking. “Who would’ve guessed that the girl who so loved being blind would grow to have sight again.”

“Shut up,” she growls, taking a step towards you.

“You always made such a fuss about how much of a happy accident it was! But,” and here you laugh, taunting her, “could it be that it was an act all along?”

In a flash she is upon you, hands around your throat. Your back hits the ground with a thump and you gasp, winded. Terezi’s eyes are aflame, fuelled by sweeps of words unsaid and conflicts unsettled.

“I didn’t _want_ to kill you,” she spits. “You dug your own grave.”

 _An eye for an eye,_ you remember her saying a long time ago.

“You can’t--kill me,” you grin, light-headed under her chokehold, but in no danger. “I’m--already--”

“I had no intention of doing so,” she replies, releasing your throat just enough to let you breathe again. “Your debt was repaid.”

“Good to see nothing’s changed.”

“I went so far as to miss you, Vriska.”

The sound of your name on her tongue is something near-foreign, and now you’re wondering just how long it’s been. Terezi is on top of you, hands at your throat, and though you know you’re dead you can feel her nails digging into you and taste her breath when she leans in close to your face.

You feel _alive_.

With a burst of energy you reach around the back of her neck and pull her down, kissing her hard on the mouth.

She does not struggle, but her grip on your throat tightens again, and in response you circle her throat with your hands.

“You forget,” you whisper against her mouth, “you’re still alive.”

She releases your throat with an audible hiss and kisses you again, forcefully enough to slam your head back against the ground. Her teeth pierce your lip and you can taste blood as she slides her hands under the fabric of your shirt. Her fingers are warm, almost electric, on the skin of your back. You move your hands away from her neck and slip your fingers under the waistband of her pants, gouging at her hipbones with your nails.

She pulls back from the kiss and glares daggers into your blank eyes, her breath hot on your face.

“I hate you,” she spits.

“Hate you too,” you hiss, and it’s almost romantic.

She buries her face in your neck and digs her nails into your shoulderblade, roughly enough to draw blood. It takes you a moment to realize that she’s scratching a shape into your back, ripping into you like she owns you, like you’re her canvas.

She pulls her hand away and brings her hand forward to touch your cheek. It leaves the all-too-familiar wetness of your own blood in its wake. You haven’t felt that since long before your death; until this, you weren’t even aware that ghosts _could_ bleed, but you can feel it soaking through your shirt and you’re glad to be able to feel again.

Your shoulder burns and stings and you know what she’s marked you with. You know that beneath your shirt, bleeding cerulean, is a crudely-formed spade.

“Mine,” she breathes into your neck, her voice a low growl.

Before she can make a move to counter, you roll over her, flipping her belly-up and pinning her to the ground. Teal begins to bleed from the places where you hold her slender wrists with your nails.

You lean down and kiss her, biting her lip hard. The taste of her blood fills your mouth and Terezi, ever-proud, stifles a cry.

“ _Yours_?” You run your tongue along her bloodied lip, savouring it like the victory that was never yours. “Never.”


End file.
